


Light in the Window

by wonderwhatthisbuttondoes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Recovery, Social Anxiety, The Shire, Thorin Oakenshield Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:46:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwhatthisbuttondoes/pseuds/wonderwhatthisbuttondoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After surviving his nephews at the Battle of Five Armies, Thorin makes his way to Hobbiton and crashes, hard.<br/>Bilbo is glad to see him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light in the Window

Thorin awoke in utter darkness.  
He shoved the bedclothes away from his face with an impatient grunt, and turned onto his side. Then all was still again, but for his almost-silent and still far too loud breathing. He could feel the sweat of the night cooling about his shoulders and in his hair. The good cloth of his blue tunic was heavy and foul with it, and somewhere lurking underneath was a sweet-straw ghost, the homelike scent of the dye itself. The dye Dys had used- Thorin shuddered, teeth clenching hard, and then lay still once more.

Perhaps hours later, a finger of light made it's way around the heavy woolen blanket hung carefully over the window. That was why it was so hot in here, the window was blocked, and it was summer in the Shire outsi-  
The Shire, Thorin remembered. The Shire, and... Bilbo.  
Sweet, sweet Bilbo. The Hobbit was thoroughly unimpressed with him by now, of course, but- Thorin shut his eyes, and rolled onto his back again with a sigh, grateful for the cool that spread across his chest as he did so.  
From somewhere outside and very far away, came the rhythmic, scythe-hiss strokes of someone mowing grass.

Thorin stumbled out into the living room in his smallclothes and trousers a little after noon, blinking and grimacing against the strong daylight coming in through the front windows. Bilbo looked up over his reading glasses, and lowered his book. A broad-brimmed straw hat with a green ribbon, and a basket of what might be either flowering herbs or pulled weeds sat beside a pair of leather gardening gloves on the table.  
"Good morning."  
"Mh," Thorin replied with a slight nod, and squinted at the bright windows unhappily.  
"No," Bilbo told him firmly and almost cheerfully, "-I will not block out the sun in here too, I'm enjoying it."  
Thorin frowned at this, a pained thing born of a raw and desperate weariness of spirit. Bilbo replied with an unapologetic lift of his eyebrows, and then his blue eyes softened.  
"I'll make us some tea," the Hobbit decided, and got up to put together luncheon.

-

Outside, it was raining. Thorin pulled the tunic off over his head and sat cross-legged in the dark in the center of the bed, feeling the coolness of the night air against his skin. It felt right. Familiar. He shouldn't be this warm. He- ...shouldn't be warm at all, after Ravenhill.  
He should have died there. With /them/.

-

Summer wore on in the Shire, and Bilbo worried. All in all though, he was glad to have Thorin there with him. If the Dwarf had returned to his travels in anything like the state he'd been lately, it would have concerned Bilbo far more. No. Scratch that, if Thorin left Bag End anytime soon, Bilbo would simply go after him.  
Thorin.  
A warm heart, seen only in glimpses as through lead crystal.  
A dangerous hunger, always on the point of turning on itself.  
A handsome, unwashed mess with deepening stains beneath his evasive, sorrowful eyes. Bilbo just wanted to kick him sometimes. Once, he had.  
Thorin had been surprised, but it had gotten him up off the pantry floor.

-

Bilbo was just putting his supper on the table when he felt the presence of the shadow that leaned a shoulder against the hallway door frame.  
"Hullo," Bilbo said, fondly.  
"Uh- good evening," Thorin replied, his deep voice rusty from disuse.  
"I was just sitting down to supper, love. Will you join me?"  
Thorin blinked in confusion for a moment as though not sure the words were meant for him. He cast Bilbo a grateful glance, then dropped his eyes a moment after, his unconscious almost-smile fading.  
'...I would like that,' he planned to say, but nodded once instead. Thorin looked at the bench across the small table from Bilbo, hesitating long. He swallowed. Then he lowered himself to the floor beside the table, and scooted a few feet beneath it to lean his head back against Bilbo's knee, eyes shut.  
"Well REALLY-" Bilbo spluttered, looking down. He caught himself, favored the Dwarf in his lap with a philosophical smile, and sank the fingers of his left hand into the dark, tangled warmth of his greasy, silver-shot hair. He slipped Thorin a well-buttered roll under the table, then settled down to eat with his right hand alone.

-

Coming back from a hurried visit to Micheal Delving one afternoon, Bilbo saw with surprise that the dishes he'd left beside the sink earlier were done, perfectly clean and drying in their wooden rack by the window. There was also a broken side-dish plate in the dustbin.  
"Well," He said aloud, and smiled thoughtfully to himself.

-

Thorin was ravenous. It was some impossible hour of the morning that Bilbo would have called 'unfashionable' in a long-suffering whine however, so Thorin padded as quietly as he could into the pantry and helped himself to a large wedge of cheese and two pears. They tasted well, and even better together. He felt a trickle of the sweet, cool juice in his beard, and enjoyed it.  
The moon was bright outside, and the air was clear and still.  
Thorin washed what he'd eaten down with a mug of cool, light ale, and padded back to his room in the dark.

-

One evening, Thorin awoke to find that his head felt clearer. He dressed in clean clothes he couldn't remember having taken off, followed the clinks of a teaspoon, and found Bilbo at his writing desk. The Hobbit looked up, and put his quill pen down. Thorin put a hand on his shoulder, then leaned forwards with a half-smile to place his forehead against Bilbo's.  
Bilbo promptly burst into tears and hugged him. Thorin felt a thread of unease and the need to escape begin in the moth eaten corners of his mind, but he didn't pull away.  
"Thank you, master Baggins," he whispered into the curls behind Bilbo's ear, instead.  
"...Save us but you need a bath," Bilbo sniffed finally, grinning a little.  
So, Thorin took one.

Bilbo was fast asleep on his chest.  
Thorin passed a careful hand down the unbroken smoothness of the Hobbit's back, and was rewarded with a quiet snuffle and a slight shift of Bilbo's head, but no more. Thorin felt good. And trapped, but- so cursed good, with a calmness of limb and such a deep peace as he hadn't felt since the day he'd arrived.  
He had woken with the Hobbit fitted warmly against his back, that time.  
He craved him. Small, clever fingers. His firm, amused voice. The energetic softness of his body, and the coarser wool on his small, broad feet, ticklish against the soles of Thorin's own in the morning. He'd given himself to this charming, bewildering creature entirely. Held him, and loved him. Taken him inside, and taught him such secrets of the Dwarves as he'd thought his little love might enjoy. And never once had he regretted it.  
Well- he had only woken up with the Hobbit twice now, but it was the principle of the thing...

"Would you fancy some breakfast?" Bilbo asked, looking back with a fond smile as he laced up his pajama trousers.  
"Mh... no," Thorin answered, reluctantly. Bilbo paused, and fell silent, studying the back of Thorin's well-mussed hair. He put a hand on his shoulder.  
Thorin jumped. It wasn't much, and he hadn't meant to, but he did. Bilbo's hand left him. Thorin reached up suddenly, and caught Bilbo's hand in one of his own. He gripped it tight, and pressed the backs of the cool, square fingers to his forehead in apology.  
"What I have b-" Thorin broke off and swallowed. "...You don't deserve this."  
"You're not well," Bilbo agreed, "-but the fact of the matter is I love you, so... erm-" he cleared his throat slightly, and kissed Thorin's bare shoulder.  
Thorin squeezed his hand once more in thanks, then let it go.

-

Thorin woke in the night, and wrote a letter to Balin. He sealed it, pressing one of his silver hair-beads into the wax by way of a seal, and left it on Bilbo’s desk. It was gone the next morning.

-

“No, /you/ do it,” a tiny, piping voice hissed, from outside.  
“I shan’t, it was your idea,” another answered.  
“Don’t be a baby, just have a look-”  
The negotiation continued for a minute or two, and Thorin considered. So far as he knew, none of Bilbo’s neighbors knew he was still living there, though he’d met a few of them in the beginning…  
It occurred to him to wait just in front of the window and surprise his young guests at close range.  
It would doubtless be the screaming horrified/delighted highlight of their day, but- no. It would only cause trouble for Bilbo in the long run, and he- liked it here.  
By the time the hobbit children outside had sufficiently gathered their courage to peek, the bed stood empty.

-

Thorin joined Bilbo for breakfast. He sat down on the bench across from the Hobbit without a word, and kept his eyes mostly on the table. Bilbo gave him an encouraging smile, and pressed one of his hands. Thorin didn’t speak, though he glanced up for a moment. Bilbo did talk, about anything and nothing in particular. He fried up several more sausages, and poured tea. Thorin’s stomach growled, tightly.  
Most of the sausages and a cold chicken sandwich later, he was feeling much better.  
Thorin came to breakfast the day after, as well.

-

There were a few days when the eyes, and the ice, and the past still defeated him. For one hour out of each day though, Thorin tried. His body helped. Now that it seemed to have remembered what food was, it punished him whenever he went without too long. A few weeks later, he began to wash up more often. Bilbo got a lot cuddlier with him, and didn’t bring up the reasons why.  
Caring. Doing things again, the simple, automatic tasks of life, exhausted Thorin inexplicably.  
He would try, though. For Bilbo’s small fingers combing out his hair, and his warm, easy laugh, he would try.

-

“We have five more, you know. Meals,” Bilbo suggested, amused.  
Thorin looked up, and finished chewing. Breakfast had become a mixed and sprawling affair, half fresh-made eggs, ham, griddlecakes, bacon and toast, and the sort of potato fry-ups that Bilbo thought proper, and half the more solid supper leftovers that Thorin favored. He took a drink from his mug of tea and considered, thoughts whirling.  
If he started coming to meals more often, Bilbo would start expecting him to, and that- suddenly the ham he’d just eaten wasn’t sitting so well. Thorin shook his head.  
“Suit yourself,” Bilbo shrugged, and applied jam to some toast for himself. Thorin relaxed, but the Hobbit’s offer wouldn’t leave him, and three days later he joined him for afternoon tea.

-

Leaves fell, and harvest-time came to the Shire. Great piles of apples, pumpkins and winter squash went by in small, pony-drawn carts. Parties were thrown, and relatives came calling more often. Hobbit-children were even more underfoot than usual.  
Bilbo came home one day to find Thorin fully dressed and wearing boots for the first time in nearly four months. He was sitting on the bench out front in the early evening, smoking.  
“It’s so good to see you!” Bilbo exclaimed, and hugged Thorin warmly before joining the Dwarf on the bench and taking out his own pipe.  
“...It’s good to be back,” Thorin agreed wryly, and handed him the tobacco pouch.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended as the beginning of something else, but it seems to stand on it's own. 
> 
> And no, Thorin's not 'all better now', and he probably never will be. He's just better than he was, and Bilbo appreciates the effort.  
> As far as the other Hobbits are concerned, the same dwarf who came to call on master Baggins at the end of spring has just returned. And it's none of their business, really.


End file.
